Eye of the Beholder
by Remi Savant
Summary: This is a Walking Dead AU which puts the characters in a 1940's noir setting. It's a crime drama that takes place in Atlanta with Daryl Dixon, P.I. as the main character. The M Rating is largely for violence (but could also include adult situations, language, etc.). I do not own the rights to any of the characters, etc., etc...
1. Chapter 1

Eye of the Beholder

By

Remi Savant

**Chapter 1**

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the words emblazoned across the upper window of the three story office building: _Daryl Dixon, P.I._ Inside Daryl's office, the words were mirrored on a smaller scale on the frosted glass of his office door. The room was simple, yet functional; boasting a coat rack, a desk with three chairs, and a particularly comfortable couch. A lamp on the desk provided the only illumination in the room, save for the soft light on a small terrarium in the corner. Daryl dropped a few pieces of lettuce, which he had saved from lunch, into the terrarium. Its sole occupant, a box turtle, munched happily on the lettuce. Daryl walked over to his desk sat back in the chair, propping his feet up on the desk as he lit a cigarette. The sounds of the rain splattering against the window and the distant rumbling thunder mixed with the tapping of typewriter keys outside his office door. He actually found all of this quite relaxing.

The door to his office opened and in stepped his secretary, a petite blonde with bright red lips and blue eyes. Her long hair curled around her shoulders. She batted her eyes. "Pardon me, Mr. Dixon, but it's six o'clock. If you don't need anything else, I'm going to take off now."

Daryl turned toward her and regarded her silhouette in the doorway. After a brief pause, he replied, "Sure, Beth. I'll see you in the morning."

A door opened and shut in the front office. Beth shut the door and walked back into the front office to see who it was. After a brief, muffled conversation, the intercom on Daryl's desk buzzed. "Mr. Dixon, there's a Rosita Espinosa here to see you." Beth informed him.

Daryl replied, "Thank you, Beth. Send her in."

Beth escorted the woman into Daryl's office. Daryl looked the newcomer over appraisingly. She was a slight brunette with her hair done in a chignon. Her light caramel complexion was accentuated by a hint of make-up. Her eyes were exotic and full of self-confidence. She wore a gray fitted jacket over a purple knee-length dress. Her shoes looked like they were designed more for comfort than fashion.

"Ahem. Would you like me to wait in the front office, Mr. Dixon?" Beth asked, looking pointedly at Daryl.

He turned his gaze back to Beth. "That won't be necessary, Beth. Would you please lock up on your way out? I'll see Ms. Espinosa out when we're all wrapped up in here."

Beth glared at the woman, then nodded to Daryl and shut the door behind her, with a little more force than was necessary.

"Can I take your coat, Ms. Espinosa?" Daryl offered, gesturing toward her jacket.

"Thank you, but I'm fine." Rosita answered.

_Right down to business? Good, looks like this won't take long after all_, Daryl thought. "Please have a seat." Daryl gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?" He asked, checking his wristwatch.

Rosita sat in the rightmost chair. "Well, Mr. Dixon, I fear that I'm being followed. I've seen this same guy watching me at work, at the grocery store, even outside my apartment." She paused for a moment. "My boyfriend can have a bit of a temper, and I'm afraid that if I tell him about it, he'll really hurt this guy."

"So, why not let him take care of this?" Daryl asked, crossing his arms.

Rosita looked away, "I don't want my boyfriend, Abraham, getting into any trouble with the police. As I said, he can be a hot-head."

Daryl squinted, "Speaking of police, why not call them?"

"I...don't entirely trust the police in this town." She said, turning back to face him. "I don't know who this guy is or what connections he has."

"What do you want from me? I don't exactly do bodyguard work." Daryl asked, looking at his watch again.

"I want to hire you to find out who this guy is. Is he dangerous? Why is he following me? What does he want?" She replied, her voice getting higher as she spoke.

"I see. Alright I'll take the case and see what I can dig up. What can you tell me about him? What does he look like?" Daryl sat forward and picked up a pen from his desk, preparing to take notes.

Rosita thought for a moment. "He's mid-thirties, kind of husky, with dark shaggy hair and slipshod attire."

"I see. And you say, you've seen him outside your apartment several times?" Daryl asked without looking up from his notes.

"That's right." She answered. "Why do you ask?"

"It gives me a place to start." Daryl said, looking up finally. "I can stake out your apartment until he shows up, then I can follow him and see where he goes, who he is." He handed her a small piece of paper and a pen. "If you'll please write down your address and a number I can reach you at, I can get started."

Rosita jotted down her address and handed the paper back to Daryl. "Thank you. Oh, there is one other thing." Daryl started, "There's still the matter of my fee. I need half up front for expenses and the other half when I've found your information."

"Of course, Mr. Dixon." Rosita reached into her purse and pulled out her pocket book. "How much do you require?"

Once they had settled the subject of payment, Daryl stood and offered to walk Rosita out. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Dixon. I look forward to hearing from you." She said as she turned to walk out into the hallway. Daryl shut the door, took a deep breath and said, "I thought you were going home, Beth."

"How did you know I was still here?" Beth asked from across the room.

"I never heard you go through the front door. I like to think that I'm pretty good at my job." Daryl replied, turning to face her. "Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

For several evenings, Daryl sat outside the address Rosita had given him with the engine off, waiting for this mysterious stalker to appear. On the third night, around 8pm, he showed up in the alley across the street from Rosita's apartment. He looked just like Rosita had described. He was peeping into her apartment with a pair of binoculars. For almost an hour, he made no movement other than to stare through the binoculars, as Daryl watched him watch her. Without any warning, he suddenly lowered the binoculars, turned and walked down the street. Daryl got out of his car and followed the man from a modest distance.

Daryl trailed the man for several blocks before he finally stopped at a small house with a fence around the front yard. The man stopped at the front door, turned, and looked around as if searching the area for something before entering the residence. Daryl wrote down the address and returned to his car.

He spent the next week assembling his dossier on this man, whom he came to know as Eugene Porter. Over the course of his investigation, Daryl learned that Eugene was a former science teacher and occasional con man with a penchant for collecting odds and ends. He had eccentric taste in his knick-knacks and baubles, collecting things from a gold plated chess set with copper pieces to obvious knock-offs of famous paintings.

Daryl was sitting in his office late one evening, organizing all of the information he had obtained for Ms. Espinosa when there was a knock at the front door. Beth had already gone home for the night, so Daryl decided to ignore it and went back to his files. There was another knock then silence for a minute before he heard the front door open, then close. Daryl reached into his top left desk drawer and pulled out a revolver. He could see the silhouette of a man through the frosted glass of his office door. Slowly, the door opened and the shadowy figure standing in the doorway said, "Good evening Mr. Dixon. My name's Eugene Porter and I understand you've been following me."

**This is the first chapter of the first story in the (tentatively named) Atlanta Nights collection. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me reviews and feedback.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Daryl closed the folder containing his collection of information regarding Eugene Porter with his left hand, while pointing his revolver at the man in question with the right. "Come in, have a seat. I assume you're unarmed," Daryl gestured toward the chairs in front of his desk. He regarded the man in front of him with a wary eye. Eugene wore a slightly rumpled shirt under an obviously second-hand suit, baggy slacks, and worn shoes. His too-short tie, disheveled hair, and three-day stubble spoke volumes to Daryl.

Eugene took the proffered seat in one of the chairs. "Why are you following me, detective? And don't bother lying to me; I'm smarter than most people."

"Are you? Well, I wouldn't want to insult your intelligence." Daryl chuckled, with a hint of sarcasm as he set the revolver down. "I was hired to investigate you. It's what I do...says so on the door."

Eugene frowned. "Why? Who hired you?"

"I'm afraid that's classified information, I don't reveal the identities of my clients. I'm sure you can appreciate that." Daryl shrugged.

Eugene fidgeted in his seat for a minute, closely examining his fingernails before sheepishly asking, "Does this have something to do with Rosita Espinosa?" He watched as Daryl's eyes narrowed and the P.I. scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I see. Did she also tell you that she started following me first? I've been following her to see why she's following me."

"Why would she be following a complete stranger?" Daryl finally asked after glaring at the man for a long moment.

Eugene's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'stranger'? I have a passing acquaintance with Ms. Espinosa. She's my appraiser's secretary. As you've no doubt learned from your investigation, I am something of a collector. Not too long ago, I came into possession of an heirloom that I had appraised. Ever since then, Ms. Espinosa has been following me. This brings me to why I've come here this evening. I would like to hire you to figure out why she's following me."

"Why not go to the police?" Asked Daryl.

Eugene quickly replied, "The police? In this city? No thanks, they've got a reputation."

"So I've heard. Alright, you've got my curiosity piqued. What did you have appraised and where is this appraiser's office?" Countered Daryl.

Eugene explained that he had inherited a samurai sword from an uncle and had it appraised. It turned out that it wasn't worth very much, so he collected the paperwork on it from the appraiser's office and gave the sword away to someone as a gift, but wouldn't say who, insisting that it was irrelevant. He gave Daryl the name and address of the appraiser and a note authorizing Daryl to see any paperwork that the appraiser may have on items he appraised for Eugene. After asking Daryl for a business card and slipping it into his pocket, Eugene made a down payment on Daryl's services and left.

Eugene put the key in the lock to his front door. He was suddenly aware of the quiet. There were no birds, no crickets, nothing but the sound of the key unlocking the tumblers. He quickly stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. He reached for the nearest lamp. Not finding it where it should be, he groped around on the floor for it. The uneasy feeling that something was wrong turned into a cold chill that ran down his spine as he turned on the lamp. His living room was in complete disarray, it had obviously been ransacked. Eugene made a quick mental inventory of what thieves could have been looking for. A sudden sound of creaking floor boards, emanating from further in the house, snapped Eugene back to his current situation. He had just opened the front door to make his escape when a pair of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back into the house. Another assailant, also clad in black clothes, closed the door and locked it. Eugene was tossed into a chair and the two men held a sturdy hand on each of his shoulders. A third man, similarly dressed, stepped out of the shadows and approached Eugene. He was fairly non-descript with short brown hair. The man squatted down to look Eugene in the eyes, smiling the entire time, and said, "Good evening Mr. Porter. My name is Gareth and I'm here for the Eye."

Eugene fidgeted a little, looking nervously between the men holding him down and Gareth. He gulped, "I-I don't know what you're talking about. What Eye?"

"Come on, Eugene...you don't really think I'm that stupid do you? We know you have the Eye of the Chupacabra. Just give it to us and everybody can be happy...well, I will be, anyway."

Eugene just shook his head in confusion and stammered. "What? I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, I swear.

"That is unfortunate," the man said as he rose, the smile slowly melting from his face. "I was so hoping we could resolve this amicably." He drew a knife from a sheath behind his back and started towards Eugene.

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since Daryl met with Eugene. He had visited Eugene's appraiser and made some discreet inquiries regarding Rosita. He was pacing back and forth as the orange rays of the setting sun shone through the slats of the blinds in his office. "So, Eugene inherits a sword, takes it to an appraiser, and suddenly the appraiser's secretary starts following him. Maybe she's after the jewel, that according to this file," he picks up the appraiser's file on the objects he'd looked at for Eugene over the last several years, "was hidden inside the sword." He plopped the file back down on his desk and continued pacing. "Then, he decides to start following her to find out why she's following him. How did I get myself mixed up in this mess?" Daryl sits down and rolls his chair over to the terrarium. "Thanks for listening, Anthony." Suddenly the telephone rings. Daryl rolls back over to his desk and picks up the telephone. "Hello? Yeah? Oh, hey, Rick. (pause) Sure, I can meet you. What's the address? 410 Meadowlark? I'm on my way." Daryl hung up the phone and turned back to the terrarium, "410 Meadowlark is where Eugene lives. Now what?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Yes, I realize that it's been a year and a half since I updated last. It's been a busy year and a half, (my wife and I had our first baby) and life and stuff. Besides, I'm quite prone to writer's block. Anyway, enough excuses...I intend to be much more punctual with my writing. Thank you for hanging in there and please leave feedback. Without further ado, Chapter 3...**

Daryl pulled up in front of Eugene's house, putting the car in 'park' and turning off the engine, he surveyed the scene. The house was a nondescript off-white one-story, looking much like every other house on the block, but in a minor state of disrepair. The picket fence, which showed more wood than white, and the withered remains of a flower garden were the only things that differentiated it from its neighbors. There were several police cars parked on the street and an unmarked Plymouth sitting just on the outside of the perimeter. The police had, of course, cordoned off the area while they conducted their investigation. Judging by the number of squad cars present, Daryl suspected something very bad went down here. He just had to find Rick before his partner found Daryl...

"Dixon," said an accusing voice with a slight drawl, "what the hell are you doing here?"

_Dammit_, thought Daryl as he turned around. "Afternoon, Detective Walsh. You're lookin'..."

"Cut the crap, Dixon! I asked you a question," Snapped Shane. "This is a police investigation, we don't need low-life, gutter dwellers, like you, looking for trouble."

Daryl took one step forward so he was almost face-to-face with Shane. "You kiss your momma with that mouth...or just your partner's wife?" He growled.

"You sonofabitch!" Shane's eyes widened with rage as he reached in his coat for his revolver. He was stopped by the sound of his partner's voice calling from the house.

"Daryl, is that you?" Rick called. "C'mon in, you need to see this."

"Sure thing, Rick," Daryl replied, flashing Shane a smug smile as he took a few steps backwards before turning and walking towards Eugene's house.

Daryl stepped into the house and was immediately taken aback by the scene before him. The living room was a complete mess. Everything looked like it had been torn through. Everything. On the far side of the room was a chair, covered in blood, with ropes still hanging limply over the arms and back. Daryl also noticed a trail of blood leading from the chair into an adjacent room. There was more blood than a body could afford to lose and still be called alive. Rick was standing just inside the doorway waiting for Daryl to take everything in. As soon as Daryl turned to him, Rick held out his hand.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," Rick said, as Daryl accepted his handshake. "This is ugly, really ugly. The blood leads out through the kitchen into the back and stops right at the driveway. We got tire tracks, but the victim doesn't seem to have a car."

"No, he doesn't, "replied Daryl, "I assume this isn't a social call, Grimes. Why did you call me on this?"

Rick held up Daryl's business card...the same one he had given Eugene. "We found this in the victim's coat pocket over by the door." He could see Daryl tense slightly. "Relax, you aren't a suspect. I just hoped you might be able to offer some insight into what happened here."

"I bet your partner would love nothing more than to pin this on me." Daryl grunted.

Rick waved his hand dismissively at the notion, "Forget Shane, you're here at my request."

Rick was just about the only cop in town that Daryl trusted. Sure, everyone had skeletons in their closets, but Rick was a decent and honest cop, even if he wasn't exactly husband of the year. "Is it true about you and that new singer down at Bob's?" Daryl asked nonchalantly, as he began searching around the room for clues.

Rick stared at Daryl for a moment, then looked away. I don't know what you heard and I don't want to know. Michonne is just a friend."

"Uh huh," Daryl replied, unconvinced. He stopped at a small stand on a table in the corner. It held two Japanese swords, a small one and a medium one, with an empty space for a larger one. The ornate red and black handles on the two swords looked an awful lot like the description of the samurai sword that Eugene had appraised. He suddenly wondered just how many people knew about the jewel. Sure, Rosita was following him, presumably to get her hands on it...but she didn't exactly seem like the type to tie a guy to a chair, torture him, then drag his body away. He doubted that she could physically pull this off...maybe her boyfriend, the mechanic. Daryl made a mental note to pay a little visit to Abraham.

Daryl pointed out the missing sword to Rick, but omitted the part about the gem. He told Rick about being hired by two people who seemed to be following each other, but left out Rosita's name, claiming confidentiality. After he finished picking through the ruins of Eugene's house, Rick led him outside to search the end of the blood trail. As they were comparing notes on the crime scene, Daryl noticed a spark of sunlight glinting off of something small in the middle of the gravel driveway. He bent down to pick it up, turning it over in his hand as he examined the lapel pin. It had an engraving of train tracks leading up to an eye surrounded by squiggly lines. He glanced over at Rick to see if the other man had noticed his discovery. Rick appeared to be watching him out of the corner of his eye, then suddenly turned his back as Daryl pocketed the pin.

"Well, thanks for coming down and taking a look around, Daryl," Rick said, finally turning around. "I trust you'll let me know if you think of anything else you can share." Daryl nodded.

Returning to his car, Daryl noticed a parking ticket on his windshield wiper. "Dammit, Walsh." He muttered as he crumpled up the ticket and threw it in the backseat.

That evening, after jotting down some notes for the day and running the details by Anthony, Daryl was absently staring at the pin. His door opened and Beth walked in.

"You goin' home anytime soon, Mr. Dixon?" She asked coyly. "It's past business hours."

"Hm? This business ain't really got hours, darlin'," he replied. "'sides, I'm still trying to figure this out."

"If there aren't really hours, then you're grossly underpaying me," she said with a bat of her lashes as she sat on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs in front of him. "And whatever that is that you've been staring at for the last hour isn't likely to start talking now. What is it?" she asked taking the pin from his hand.

He looked up, as if finally noticing she was there. His eyes traced up the length of her legs, around the curve of her hips, and over the swell of her bosom, to rest on her face. Most of this journey was lit by the light of his desk lamp, but her face was partly concealed in shadow. She looked back from the pin to him.

"I've never seen this design before, but I have some friends at the Library and the Museum who might be able to help." She tossed the pin back to Daryl and gave him a mischievous smile. "Tomorrow."

Daryl dropped the pin in his desk drawer and stood up next to Beth, letting his hands follow the path his eyes has trailed before. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her passionately. As he broke away, she looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes...the fathomless depths in which he often lost himself. "So, uh, dinner?" he asked, trying to sound as confident as he did when he spoke to anyone else. She simply nodded. He walked her to the door, grabbing his coat and hat on the way. Suddenly remembering his desk lamp, he ran over to turn it off and looked back to see her silhouetted in the doorway. He could feel his heart thump in his chest, "...and maybe a few drinks at my place?" he continued emboldened.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon," she added coquettishly, walking out of the office. He followed her out.

God, he loved when she called him that.


End file.
